Blown Away
by NowComesTheNight
Summary: Allen should have felt guilty, but he just... didn't. He only wished the wind would devour everything. AU Yullen. Rated T for very mild language and mention of abuse.


Summary: Allen should have felt guilty, but he just... didn't. He only wished the wind would devour everything.

One-shot. This is very Allen-centric AU and a bit depressing, maybe, with a large helping of Yullen on the side... I think... I'll let you be the judge. This is not a songfic, but it is inspired by the song "Blown Away" by Carrie Underwood. A seriously good song and I'm not even a fan of Country music. It's my first DGM story, it's unbeta'd, probably awful and there may be some OOC too. I, also, have serious issues with tense. I hope you all enjoy this otherwise!

I don't own D. Gray-Man or "Blown Away". All I have is this plot plus five cents in my pocket :(

_thoughts_

_'past speech'_

Blown Away

Allen sat outside, leaning against the house's wood panels as he used his ripped and ruined blue shirt to wipe at the blood that dribbled from his nose. Tenderly, he touched the side of his face where a bruise was sure to mar his pale skin. With a sigh, he tilted his head back and watched the clouds gather in the once clear, mid-day sky. The radio was on inside, Allen could hear an announcement about a severe storm, but he didn't really care. He was in a new, unfamiliar place, with land that was flat and expansive. Not a single hill or structure blocked his view for miles in any direction. There was a certain beauty in it's bareness, but it made him feel small and alone... so very alone. Cross, his guardian, moved them to the middle of nowhere to avoid debt collectors. A new town, a new house, but the same old shit.

Cross was a rather attractive and charming man with vibrant red hair and passion to match, at least until the doors closed. Then, the man would drink like a fish at all hours, grumble and sneer at Allen, and, once the boy did something to really anger him, he would spit the most scathing words he could think of. If that didn't satisfy him, Cross would beat him before passing out drunk, leaving Allen to put himself back together.

_Stop wallowing in self pity. If you don't like it, fight the fuck back!_

Allen smiled wryly as the thought came, unbidden, to his mind. It had sounded like Kanda and, truthfully, it was probably just what the Japanese teenager would say. In all honesty, he would love to take the idea and run with it, but Cross had a foot of height and more then a hundred pounds in his favor; Allen simply didn't stand a chance in a fight.

He let out a long, shaky sigh as the clouds above him began to turn a threateningly dark color. Two months ago and two states away, Allen had had friends and long sought acceptance. Kanda had been among his friends, albeit unwillingly, and he found his mind straying to him more and more often in the past weeks. Their relationship hadn't been the most civil, to say the least, but Allen had found some odd kind of peace in their bickering.

_'Stop that god damn smiling, baka moyashi.'_

_'Idiot. You're too fucking polite.'_

_' I can't stand you!'_

The Japanese teen's words were uttered harshly, often through clenched teeth, but there was a bitterness hidden behind his tone that Allen never quite understood. Now, though, as he had more time then he could ever want alone in this empty country, he thought about those encounters, those words. They seemed crafted to cut, but they lacked any true intent. Allen knew cruelty, Cross had taught it to him over many years, and Kanda may have sounded mean, but he was far from cruel. Something in the back of his mind was trying to wiggle its way free, something about the teen he couldn't place.

Lightning cracked the sky, tendrils of white light spread out and gripped the black clouds, nearly blinding in its intensity. The wind picked up, breaking the still afternoon air, and a piece of the puzzle finally found its home. Allen stood up, cringing a little as his sore ribs protested the sudden movement, and moved away from the rotted wood. He walked out into the open field as the wind grew harsher and opened his arms as if in welcome. Its response was to rage harder, faster. As the wind whipped around him, rain began to fall, gently at first, but soon it too was whipping against him harshly, stingingly cold. A gentle smile settled on Allen's lips as he turned his head up towards the sky.

This was Kanda, Allen realized. Harsh and unrelenting, cold and indiscriminate, yet never harming. The wind whipped so hard it nearly swept him off his feet, but it played with his hair despite its white color, revealing his face, uncaring of the odd scar, and it didn't cringe away from his deformed arm. Kanda had never looked at him with disdain or disgust, never gave any hint that he cared one way or the other. No one had ever treated him that way before, no matter how kind or polite. The teen's words were cold, but they were meant to hide his revelations. Allen's smiles were fake, and his polite demeanor masked his pain, Kanda had known it and couldn't stand it. The rain soaked him to the bone and chilled his skin, but it washed away the blood and dirt, cleansed his tear stained face, and soothed his sore muscles and bruised skin.

Allen realized that Kanda's actions had never been offensive, but protective. He goaded Allen into fights, forced him to speak up for himself and say what he really thought. Slowly, Allen had become more confident and opinionated around his friends. When he thought about it, on days when he went to school with aching ribs, or a twisted arm, Kanda's verbal onslaught would be harsher, and if he missed a day, once he returned Kanda and he would hardly stop screaming at eachother. The fights were always over something petty or insignificant, and he never left a fight feeling upset or depressed, but satisfied and strangely happy. Had Kanda known what Allen was hiding?

The rain was cold and the wind was harsh, but they completely enwrapped Allen while warning him that worse things were coming. No storm started this bad without something truly devastating behind it.

Sirens suddenly screamed out, piercing his thoughts and a sense of foreboding clutched Allen's chest. A tornado had touched down close by. They needed to take cover, but he paused. Cross was still passed out on the couch, and he would probably be hard to wake from his drunken stupor.

_Leave him._

That voice, the one that sounded like Kanda, told him. He was fifteen, too young and small to fight off Cross, but he couldn't take laying down anymore. Allen took a step, then another and another until he was running full speed in the direction of the house, but instead of flinging open the door and shouting out to his guardian, he ran around the side and tore open the bulk head leading down to the storm cellar. He pulled the doors closed and locked them from the inside. Sliding his hands along the stone wall to guide him through the pitch-black, he found a corner and settled himself down to ride out the storm.

The wind howled and screeched as it rose to truly frightening speeds and, over the sounds, Allen could hear the glass shatter and the crash of collapsing walls. The house would be blown apart. Nothing would survive.

Allen supposed he should feel guilty, but he just didn't. He only wished the wind would devour everything, all the anger, all the pain, his solitude, and sadness. Let the rain wash away memories of anguish and disappointment and leave him feeling satisfied and happy.

Kanda was a storm that stripped everything bare, and Allen wished for nothing more then to be blown away.

End.

It was awful! But my first ever one-shot! Yay!

Please let me know what you think! R&R!


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